


Righteous Men

by KittyAugust (KittyAug)



Series: Of Hunters and Hellblazers [7]
Category: Constantine (TV), Hellblazer & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Constandean, Conversations, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2867741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyAug/pseuds/KittyAugust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three conversations between two Righteous Men.</p><p>Prequel to <a>Of Hunters and Hellblazers</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. August 2005

“You son of a bitch, you hung me out to dry!” Dean wasn’t quite shouting but it was close.

A few people had glanced in their direction when Dean stormed into the bar. But he just ignored them. The sort of people in a dive bar at 2:30 on a Thursday afternoon weren’t going to be a problem. They weren’t the sort of people who got involved in someone else’s business if they could avoid it. Especially not when the someone else was as angry and well-armed as Dean Winchester.

“Hmm,” Constantine scrunched up his face. “I think, technically, I used you as bait. There’s a difference.”

“You could’ve, oh I don’t know… _told_ me about it.”

“Nah,” John finished his drink and signalled the bartender for two more. “Wouldn’t have been half as convincing. And you should’ve seen your face, mate. It was bloody priceless.”

“I could have died?” Dean said. And why in the hell did that come out as a question?

“But you didn’t!” Constantine pointed at Dean with his unlit cigarette. “You’re very resourceful. I was almost certain you’d be fine. And look, here you are! No harm done.”

The bartender returned with two glasses of whiskey. Constantine turned his attention to his own glass and shoved one towards Dean.

Dean sighed and took the seat next to the magus. Sure, he hated himself for it, but it had been a really bad night and an even worse day. He really needed a drink. Or ten.

Constantine lit the cigarette and they sat in silence for a while. Dean wasn’t even really sure what he expected. It wasn’t like the Hellblazer was going to apologize.

Did he even have a right to expect anything? What was he even thinking? Who drives thirteen hours because some guy calls and says: “Don’t suppose you want’a come to Arizona and stab a few beasties in the heart for me do ja, luv?” and "I'll shag your brains out if you do?" Dean had done more than drive to get laid. And stabbing blood sucking monsters was pretty much his job.

But that wasn’t why he came when Constantine called.

He was in Palo Alto when he answered – even though he shouldn’t have been. Shouldn't have been anywhere near California at all. So yeah, he _was_ only one state away. But it wasn’t about that. Not really. It was about Sammy – who looked so happy and normal. Who didn’t see Dean watching him. And would have been angry if he had. Sammy, who didn’t want or need Dean anymore.

And it was about Dad too. Dad who had pretty much checked out after Sammy left. Just got even more obsessed with chasing down the thing that killed Mom. Dad, who was god knows where fighting god knows what. It was about Dean’s whole shitty life. He wasn’t _just_ bored. He wasn't _just_ lonely. He was angry. At himself. At Dad. At the world.

There was something enticing in driving a thousand miles to screw the Hellblazer and stab some monster his dad had probably never heard of. It felt like a rebellion. Or as close to one as Dean would ever get, anyway. He wasn’t like Sam. He didn’t have it in him to stay gone. But maybe just a taste of freedom wouldn’t hurt.

So, _of course_ it all went to shit. John Constantine might be the Hellblazer, he might even be the best damn demon hunter on the planet, but he wasn’t family. And Dean should have known better. Really the only person Dean had to blame was himself.

“I’m sorry,” Constantine mumbled, more to his drink than to Dean.

“What?”

“I said, I’m sorry. For scaring you. For the whole set up. It wasn’t… personal. ‘S just what I do…” He glowered into the whiskey, “I just do whatever it takes...”

Dean stared at him. He really hadn’t known what he expected storming in here to confront the Hellblazer. But it hadn’t been this. Constantine really was sorry. But it also wouldn’t stop him doing it again in a heartbeat. How could he live that way?

“Yeah, well. I don’t usually work with people who screw me over.” Dean knew he shouldn’t push it even as he said it. But he couldn’t help himself. It was like running his tongue over a loose tooth. Testing the edge of the pain.

“Guessing you don’t normally work with people who screw _you_ either,” Constantine said and a bit of smug confidence crept back into his voice. Then he shook his head with a wry smile and signaled for another round. “It was important, you know.”

“It’s always important,” Dean said, almost by rote.

“Nah, mate, this was _really_ important. This wasn’t just any old pair of Vetala. That thing they stole was the end of the sodding _world_ kind of important.”

Dean scoffed but Constantine just stared back impassively.

“Seriously?” Dean asked. Because, seriously?!

“There’s worse out there than wolves and wendigo, Winchester. There’s demons, and dragons and gods... green slimy guys in swamps..." Constantine found that funny for some reason. Huffing at his own joke before turning serious again. "And there’s some pure evil in that darkness. This thing, it's all tied up in that darkness. I’ve got to get it back to a guy in Louisiana before the new moon or we’re talking old gods and blood rain. Armageddon.”

“And that meant you had to fuck me over because?”

“Because it was the best plan. ‘Cause sometimes you do a bad thing to win the good fight… Because there’s _always_ a price to playing this game, lad. And it’s paid in blood, and sweat, and tears... and souls. Usually your own.” Constantine moved in closer to Dean than he had been since before the show down. Right into his personal space to bring them face to face. His breath ghosting whiskey warm over Dean’s skin. “Demons aren’t scared of _good_ guys, Dean. They’re scared of guys like me. Because they _know_ I’m worse than they are.”

Constantine went silent and backed off when their second round arrived.

Dean realized it was the exorcist’s third, at least. Maybe he should slow them down? And damn it. Dean knew himself well enough to know why he had _that_ thought. He really was going to let the damn Hellblazer screw him as well as screw him over. Great friggin’ willpower, Winchester. Fuck.

“But you know what’s the _very_ worst thing out there?” Constantine said pulling Dean’s attention back into the moment. “It’s _us_... One day you wake up and you realise that _we’re_ the thing in the dark… Men like us. We’re what’s worse than the worst… Because we’ve got to be.” He lit another god-awful cigarette, “We’re the _righteous_ men, Winchester. And we’re the God damned scariest thing on this God damned Earth. That’s the scariest thing out in that dark. Seeing your own damned face looking back.”

There was another long silence.

“Fine,” Dean said. “I’ve got two weeks ‘til I have to meet up with Dad. I’ll get you to Louisiana if you help me with this possible voodoo thing I’ve got out that way. Sound fair?”

“Yeah,” Constantine said. “You know lots of them rumours are true? I really am a nasty piece of work, love.”

“Yeah well,” Dean said and downed his drink. “So am I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that spotted it "green slimy guys in swamps" is a reference to Swamp Thing aka Alec Holland. Swamp Thing was the comic that introduced John Constantine as a character. They're friends - as much as a morose plant man and a snippy bastard in a trench coat can be anyway.
> 
> Also, the 'voodoo thing' is meant to be the very same 'voodoo thing' case that Dean mentions having been on in the Pilot. So this first chapter occurs a few weeks before the show starts.


	2. March 2009

“Dean?” Constantine sounded half asleep, half drunk, or both when he finally answered the phone.

“What do you know about the Righteous Man?” Dean’s voice was shaking. He didn’t really care.

"Hello to you too. I'm pretty buggered, actually. How are you?"

"Constantine..."

“Look, I know there’s an apocalypse on and all, but you know its 2:00 am in the fucking morning in England, right? Where I am tryin’ to bleeding sleep. I've got ash and sulphur so far up my nose I'm going to be shitting it for a week. Do you know how hard it is to even get to sleep like that?”

“Answer the question, John.”

There was a sigh of resignation on the other end.

“Yeah…" Constantine said, he really did sound exhausted. "Yeah, I know _who_ the Righteous Man was, Dean... I figured it out. I’m Northern, not an idiot. And, to be honest, I’m just glad it wasn’t me. A’right?”

“Why didn’t you _warn_ me?”

“When? How? You didn’t bother telling _me_ you sold your soul. Should've though, I'm sure watching me tryin' to make the King of the Crossroads eat a contract would've be a riot." He paused and snickered to himself at whatever image that last statement inspired.

Dean waited it out.

"And what if I _had_ told you before it went down?" the exorcist continued. "Would it’ve even stopped you? Would it’ve helped? Is there anything in this piss-stained _world_ that can stop a Winchester from a pig-headed self-sacrifice?" he sighed again. "And you know bloody what? I did sodding warn you. Years ago. We’re the _righteous_ men, Winchester. And we’re the scariest thing on this God forsaken ball.”

“That wasn’t a warning, that was your... you… being you! More Obi Wan crap.”

“It’s not my fault if you didn’t listen, luv. I’ve got enough of my own demons. I can’t be fighting yours as well. _I’m_ not your bloody guardian angel.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Isn’t it? You sure ‘bout that?”

“Fuck you Constantine.”

“Sorry, luv, few thousand miles too far. Even for an arse as sweet as yours.”

“Thanks,” Dean said dryly.

“No problem,” Constantine smirked. And yes Dean could _hear_ the smug smile return. He wanted to smile too. Because it was better than crying or screaming. But even trying just brought it all flooding back down on top of him.

“I started the friggin’ apocalypse…” Dean said as soft as he could. Like whispering might make it go away. Or saying it too loud might make it true. “I just… I... fuck...” Dean trailed off. Unsure if he was able to say what he was feeling. He felt defeated. By himself.

“Happens, mate.”

“That doesn’t help,” Dean said. Even though it kind of did. A bit.

“Sometimes you just gotta let this shit go and deal with the consequences. Trust me. You did your best, Dean. It was fucking Hell. Literally." There was a pause and a rustling sound while Constantine sat up in bed. A vague scrabbling as he looked for something. "That’s all blokes like us can ever do, luv. Our best. And, you know what’s worst? It ain’t never gonna be good enough. It’ll _never_ be good enough. The whole bloody game is rigged from the start. It's bollocks. But we keep fighting. We keep pushing back the forces of Hell. Because damn us or bless us, we’re all that’s left. Broken men with righteous souls. We keep fighting because someone has to. We keep doing our best even when it isn't good enough. Because who else is dumb enough?”

“I damned the whole fucking planet, Constantine!”

“Nah... Not yet, luv. Lucy’s cage is still shut. We’ve got this side of the pond down tight. First and last seal are set in stone. And I'm close to figuring out what that last one is. You hold your side and we’ll be right as rain. The feathery wankers are even running around doing whatever it is they do. It gets worse ‘afore it gets better, y’know? But you got this.”

“Sure.” Even Dean could hear how dead his voice sounded. Corpse cold; like his soul. And when did a Winchester get that damn poetic?

“Do you need me to get a flight, lad?” The exorcist sounded resigned, a little annoyed, but he meant it. If Dean asked him he really would come to the US first flight he could get. And god, in that moment, Dean wanted to say yes. He wanted to curl up in a ball and beg someone else to come and save the world.

“No. No… you hold on to Manchester, man. We’ve got this. We’ve got to right?”

“Yeah… right… Can I go back to sleep now? Pep talks ain’t really my forte.”

“I thought you said evil never sleeps.”

“Yeah true. But _I_ do.” Constantine yawned but then Dean could hear the cigarette being lit. He was giving in for now.

“Alastair’s dead,” Dean said.

“The Grand Torturer? Bloody well done, mate. Was it you, or…”

“No. It was Sammy… with… you know”

“Yeah, I do. Better ‘n most.” He laughed. Cold and short. Not his usual self-satisfied full body thing. "Still, that must've felt good?" Dean hadn't told the Hellblazer about his tour downstairs. But he must have guessed. He knew Hell better than some demons. He always put stuff together eventually.

Dean laughed too. Because what else was he meant to do. It was too loud and too manic but it beat the alternatives. This was all so far off the reservation. He was totally friggin’ lost.

If there was anyone who should be able to understand the things Dean had done today it was Constantine. But he still couldn't really bring himself to talk about it. Not all of it. Not the knives and the salt. Not Alistair. He was glad John couldn't see him - couldn't look in his soul and see demon black curled around it.

“They said it has to be me?" Dean said instead. "Me… who stops it… because I… because…”

“Yeah, sounds ‘bout right,” Constantine interrupted, saving Dean from admitting _it_ again. Admitting he broke and broke the world with him. “These things like a bit o’ symmetry. The big wanker in the sky is particular fond of narrative equilibrium. So I hear.” 

“Is it… is there another way?” And god Dean sounded fucking broken. He was going to cry if he didn’t get it together soon. Fuck. At least the angel was gone. He didn't know why that was important but it was. If he lost it he didn't want Castiel there to see it. Not again.

“I don’t know. I’m not actually omniscient, just so as we’re clear.”

“Don’t fucking start…” That felt better. Angry was easier. Anger he could deal with.

“I’m not. It’s just... it's 2:00 am and I was out all night holding down a sodding hell gate. Yeah?”

There was a pause where Dean should probably have said sorry. Sorry for calling. Sorry for this conversation. Sorry for shouting. Sorry for starting the apocalypse. Sorry for being Dean friggin’ Winchester. But instead they both fell silent. Maybe the apology was implied?

“I’m looking into it,” Constantine said at last. “I’ve got a… sorta connection… with a bunch of old bible translations, prophesies, old gospels and that sorta rubbish. I am looking into it. It’s Armageddon! Of course I’m looking into it.”

“Yeah. I know. I’m just… frigging over it. It’s not… I _can’t_ do this.”

“Course you can. You don’t got a choice, Winchester. Men like us don’t get to choose. We keep trying. We keep failing. We keep picking up the pieces. It’s what we do.”

“I’m not the fucking Hellblazer, John” Dean spat the word now. He’d worshiped that stupid nickname once. That seemed like a lifetime ago. And in Hell years it had been.

“That’s what I used to say...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Constantine's "sorta connection" with all the bibles can be read as being Aziraphale from Good Omens if you like. I'm not sure if I'll run with that connection or not at this point though. We'll see...


	3. May 2010

Dean didn’t recognize the number and whoever it was wasn't programmed into Sam's cell. But they didn’t know that many people outside the US. And only one who would be calling them less than an hour after the apocalypse was averted. He could guess.

“Constantine?” he answered.

“Dean? Thank fuck, you’re alive. Abby just called. She said Alec _felt_ something. Did you do it? Is it over?”

“Yeah. I think so.” Fuck. Dean didn’t want to celebrate this. It didn’t feel like a win. Not at this cost.

“How,” it wasn’t even really a question. Constantine must have heard the cold sting of loss in Dean’s voice and mirrored it. He knew it must have been bad. Hadn’t he been the one who said there was always a cost? That Heaven and Hell would take everything you had and then bleed out just a little more.

“Blood, sweat and souls, right,” Dean said. Not a real answer. But close enough.

“Damn. How ma… who?”

“Adam, Mike took Adam. And shit that’s a whole other story…” he didn’t want to say it. But maybe he had to? Maybe saying it would help? “And… and Sammy." There he said it. Dean choked back on tears he thought he'd already shed. "He... He fucking jumped. He took Lucifer with him. He took both of the winged douchebags - all the way down. Bottom of the goddamned Pit. It was- Fuck it was heroic. Literally. You know?”

“Yeah... I can imagine. He..." John paused. Trying to find the words - words that didn't exist. At least not in any language that could speak across 4,000 miles of ocean. "I’m sorry," he said instead. "It's- that’s a terrible price, luv. But he saved the world. You gotta know…”

“Yeah, yeah, price of playing. Bad things. Good fight. I remember.”

“There’s going to be a vacuum. Heaven. Hell. It’s gonna get messy...”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m out. I don’t care how messy it gets.” It was probably a lie. But... “I promised Sammy. I promised I’d get out. There’s a girl. And a kid… in Michigan. I’m out. I haven’t got anything else left to give, John.”

“Picket fence and apple pie? You sure you got that in you?” Constantine asked. Smug bastard.

“I promised.”

“Yeah…” There was a long pause. “Put salt in the paint,” John said at last.

It was Dean’s turn to say “What?”

“Salt. A saturated solution of salt. And cold iron and silver shavings too. In the paint. On yer windows. And the picket fence too. Oh, and plant some thyme and rosemary on the fence line. Hensbane too if'n you can find it.”

“That’s your advice? I tell you my brother threw himself into Hell and I’m getting out of the life and you tell me about plants? And paint?”

“That’s what I got, luv. Getting out never really worked too well for me." He sounded just as broken as Dean felt. "That darkness has her hooks in me deep. Tends to drag me back no matter how hard or far I run.”

“You don’t think I can do it?”

“Honest? I dunno. Gotta be worth a shot, though. Right? And if anyone can make it work through sheer force of will it's Dean bloody Winchester.”

“Yeah?” God, Dean sounded like he was begging now. Begging for reassurance from someone who was even more messed up by this screwed up life than he was.

“You lads just saved the sodding world. I think that earns you a chance. Least I hope it bloody does...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter than intended. But it just felt right like this. So, sorry! More to come in the series soon.
> 
> Abby = Abby Arcane-Holland. Swamp Thing's wife.  
> Alec = Alec Holland aka Swamp Thing.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Tumblr: <http://kittyaugust.tumblr.com/>


End file.
